Tuesday, November 14, 2006

dead puppies

Buried a puppy today ….death so easy…neat puncture wound on the neck …..and another one slipped away…but life rolls on….its just like every other day - roll call….parade….present – your in the army now…conform….but I didn’t sign up for this shit….didn’t you see the sign when you were born… ….it isn’t a choice …compulsory conscription ….soldiers in the world strife….fighting everything down…competing to be the best ….you cannot rest….run fight strife strike…weakest must die…it’s the worldly order …your in the army now….confront…conform….what is puppy love?

Push button-switch to change the channel…entertain….watch the big man with a big gun – it’s a lot of fun…..have you ever seen a man die?….have you seen children cry?....no no not on the silver screen….die for real….like life gone…dead…and no more there ….cry for real…real pain real hurt anger…..have you ever looked out the window? its alive outside….techno-colour movie…surround sound …3 D effects – more real than the latest game on the X box…more pixels than you giga-memory cell phone could capture….change the channel I am bored of this bullshit…it isn’t about my life!....

When happiness ceases to be a few beers away….

Thursday, October 19, 2006


Used to think that time was a friend of mine…past perfect – distorted to any colour I feel fit to fit my version of what happened…something somehow changed along the way – it always hits you back in the most horrid– biting u where it hurts the most…there is no effective anaesthetic….nothing that can make u sleep….its not another drink or another jay – there is something burning up the insides – wet logs don’t burn brilliant fires but there is decay – eating away the insides falling apart everyday ….
Men walk on burning coals and eat fire when it is so there desire…but I just stagnate…even the embers are not alight – need fuel…need fire ….need to dry… need to burn with passion again…need to crackle and roar… see the flames alight…burning brilliant fire flame…the smell the sight…. even cats would be afraid…
But its all dead like wet logs on a rainy day – nothing can spark this man’s remains…funeral pyre in cyclonic rain…a slow line train – nothing to push for no higher aim…stagnate.. no whirlpool no vortex no still waters that run deep – just muddy puddles and playful reflections…sold myself to the urban dream..

Saturday, August 19, 2006

poems for lovers

Far is where we have to go
Run till we can go no more
Scale the mental blocks
accept things that can’t be explained by reason
Expel all thoughts of treason
Sometimes the emotions like icicles stand on edge
the words – like a knife, cut where it hurts
We just have to hold on
Locked is the door, long is the night
Is it worth the pain?
You decide – I’ll just sit around and wait…..

Hanging on the edge of the precipice
You can’t decide whether to let go
Don’t worry, you are not alone
Don’t think about what is below
It is safe – I promise you
You try to justify that which you don’t need to
Convince yourself till you believe you
Deceiving yourself into believing anything I want you to…..

Let’s see if you can fly
The first step is the toughest
Step out of the birdcage
Come with me and we will fly
or we will die in the try…

wet worms

The guard are down
and the worms start to crawl
Puncture wounds – round and perfect
they suck my blood
And they reach my head
long and curled
Eat into my world
They make me ugly and hurt
Don’t touch me cause I am infectedDon’t touch me cause I am imperfect

My opaque myopic vision...

I will tell you the story as it seemed to me
Not like a photograph or a reflection
But what I was told or rather what I wanted to perceive
It began as a dull gray canvas
with maybe a shade of blue
and then there was a splash of Brilliant Burning Red
As it caught my attention I did not see it spread
Orange and yellow with purple highlights
When I looked again
the Angry Red had dissolved herself
lost the resolve
Somehow merged somewhat submerged
Before me was the most glorious sunset
From within her I saw the dragon child rise
Bigger Greener and more Evil he grew
Black Satanic eyes – a forked tongue of an unknown hue
Rings of Smoke – Black Bellowing Charcoal Dust
The gray canvas was now Dark
-with a thousand stars and yet before me
I saw thunder and lightning
A flash of silver – a hero was born
Young and strong
Fearless…….and then I looked away
Though the thoughts they painted on
Green Yellow a streak of white
a dab of blue
The picture is almost done
But the paint will never dry
as I do often decide to add a touch or two.

big black rock earth

big black rock-earth
uncaring unyielding mountain world
time ticks on and I don’t care
you do your thing I do mine
stay out of my way and we will be fine
accept the sick and life’s a bitch
and the mirrors cracked
no time to learn the short cut tricks
steal the stick – power cures the sick
a wonderful gimmick
and we all need an overdose
with no hangover and no hanger-ons
and no left overs and no bloated stomachs
we need perfect sublime feline beauty
watch the cat
but the mirrors are all cracked
and reflections are me
cracked up imagery
so the lover is sad…again…
don’t want a say
don’t want things your way

disillusioned to the core....this worlds a dirty whore...you better watch out ..infected by her disease ...we are plunging to eternal decay...something’s got to change...someone needs to discover a new day...

Druggie Under the Street Light

Yellow light
Naked bulb
casting shadows of monstrous proportions
Swaying swinging singing
hell bent on death and destruction
just one more shot
i am nearly there
not half as naked
but twice as bright
bringing glory to the endless night

narmada - dam the damns

Sacrifice to the temples of modern India
For you I will give up my lands and gladly go
For the rich and the strong who I will never know
For the thirsty in land many miles from my home
For the chemical factories that paint my rivers red and blue and grey
For the poisoned fish and the dry docked boats
For coco-cola to drill our waters some more
Don’t you wish
Don’t you wish
Don’t you wish
You could wish me away

She used to be a friend
She is angry now
Drowning my village and my cow
But this is where I was born
And this is where I will drown…

Box 1

BOX 1 – the magic box

…I don’t question myself enough…I wish I did…but all is not enough…for I can’t think of everything that I would want to answer to myself…or even question myself…nothing is ever enough…. The mind it is locked in a box…everyone has their own…crazy coloured and vague shaped …boxes…heart shaped or circular..elliptical or curled…hazy, crystal clear…made of lace or gold…these boxes..boundaries if you like…they arose when I was a child…if I knew then….I would have made mine interesting..not dull and drab…but no one ever told me…
…I am not trying to say these boxes are unchanging…in fact I believe they love to adapt…little distortions and slight twists…all variations…to the box..take place over time…But they cant be totally broken down…the form is always there…they can be decorated and sometimes even repainted…but to change it all…that is hard to do…I wish I could…maybe I can find a new box…an empty box..a box with no boundaries..a box which does not hold anything in…and therefore can keep nothing out…a box within which a river flows …and the wind blows…a box that floats on a river..and blows in the wind…
..I truly believe that every question thought and un-thought has an answer…it is only a matter of finding the right box….an all encompassing box…a box with no boundaries…a box that lives…a box that breathes…a magic box…a magic boundary…which is no boundary at all…but a box nonetheless…
…For the box in my head…she knows…boxes come in every form…ugly, dirty, cold, beautiful, warm and made of gold…and somewhere out there is a magic box…floating on a river..drowning in a sea...blowing in the wind…trapped in its wings…one day I will find her…and then I wont be lost…for everything will have an answer..and the questions will never stop…
…But is that what I really need?…I don’t know…for my box ..she is old and confined…that’s why I need the magic…but will it not be too late then…I am unsure…too many unanswered questions…this box has too many holes…..

Box 2

BOX 2 – the voiceless box

I don’t know where to start because I don’t know what I want to say. If I had something to say then maybe it wouldn’t be voiceless, or maybe it would be like the wind – saying a million things without a voice. But then if it were like the wind then it would not be a box, because boxes only hold empty spaces and toys and buttons. Have you ever heard of a box that holds the wind? Or even of a box that holds a voice?
There is a box in my head – she is all neat and organized labeled with identifying tags but the box in my head she can’t speak, she only whispers. Sometimes when I listen very hard I hear her.
I don’t think she likes me very much – I make her cry. I turn her neat little world on its head. I open all the drawers and compartments – pull out all the clothes, leave the books on the bed – an absolute mess.
She can’t speak but she whispers and she cries, and when I listen very hard her tears fill my eyes.
I don’t want to make her cry – it’s just that I am curious. I have to see what is behind the curtain and the colour of the bricks below the layers of paint. The box she is not curious, she does not want to know, she is safe in herself, safe in her boxed in world.

Box 3

BOX 3 – an adventurous one

I want my mind to have no boundaries. I want it to be free to explore – limitless and untouched – but then again I want it to be safe and secure, warm behind the walls. In the ideal sate – it would be this room of windows not glass tinted or clear Venetian or French but huge open spaces – between the spaces outside and the spaces inside. Something I suppose like ‘the doors’ – things known and things unknown and between them lie the doors. Not doors of perception but doors of freedom….. Freedom to a space of my own, freedom to this place between the known and the unknown…this sort of haze where I can switch back and forth – not violent jerky movements but slow pleasant drift..like a hammock on a beach or a coconut shell out at sea. Thoughts like random strands..not vying for attention …. not pulling or choking…. Just hanging around..and I could choose not to jump from one lose end to another..but float and let go..
I want to reach here on my own…without you or anyone else…it is nothing personal….just the ability to make my own trip…to reach wondrous limits..and then wonder if you are really on the edge…what would happen if you pushed just a little bit further – would it be this free fall in a world without dimensions…would it be like the suction of a vacuum pump in your head..maybe it would be this crazy farm of thoughts…
..some of them nice and friendly like the innocent white sheep in the picture books…others like snarling dog…or the greedy fat pig…

We move to fast everything should be slower and more gentle – played back in slow motion with emphasis on the edges…where the colours have withered away…on the little nooks where we have hidden things for so long that we no longer know they exist…the fragments from the broken jar for how long they cut up my mind….bleeding myself just to know the guilt…
It is time I washed away myself from this filth…moved to a nicer cleaner neighbourhood…the time to move ahead has come again…and again I am moving to fast….i do not care to explain myself….because I am selfish..and if you don’t understand its not worth explaining to you anyway….

flying in the freeway

I can see the speed, the stop signs and the exits from this freeway, only after I have zipped past them, in my red sports car with the windows down and the wind in my hair. My thoughts they float and they fly like butterflies, like this cotton ball I will rise. Sucked in by the mindless vortex, pull out the plug stop the water before the sink overflows – the damns will break and the village will drown.
Lost within myself – I am not me, just this entity. All encompassing and omnipresent - my spirit drowns in myself. As I struggle to reach the shore, straining out to reach. Extend your hand, pull me up and help me over the edge. I am calling out to you – frayed ends of sanity.


Sometimes I wonder if you know what I am trying to say – half hoping you don’t …Sometimes I just wish to leave you lost…hanging..groping…confused and on your own…a place where you must question …if only to find yourself again…who you are versus what you are constructed to be….I believe that there lies in each and everyone of us an insane mad place…a theatre of crazy thoughts…..But it is buried… in the constructs we create I don’t know why…but it somehow seems to me that we are ashamed of our madness ..as we are ashamed of our nakedness….we hide ourselves using social norms and brown polished shoes…There is something about being mad and finding your madness that frightens us so much….that we seek comfort in numbers and norms…we must all look the same…feel the same…taste the same…be the same…my madness is me….but think of our institutions…they are all tools of propagating this sameness……schools temples t.v….all ways of putting us in boxes…with our own kind….so that this sickness can spread….

painted on a slate

How I wish I could paint my thoughts - a pretty picture it would be - Vibrant - Orange Red and Green. Cold and dreary – Grey White and Pale. Methodical and cold – Steely White – Surgical Analytical Cut and Dry – with rough edges – Sharp as rusted nails.
Watercolours, Chalk and Oil paints. Charcoal and Sprinkled Gold Dust – all a whirlpool of colour – all a misty haze. Me and My thoughts painted on a slate.

Cal' Trippin...

Tomorrow by this time I will be home and all this will be yesterday. To me yesterdays are always nicer. When I want to be sad I had more reason to be – yesterday, when I am happy I was always happier yesterday. I guess we are changing with every yesterday.
The future is not important, it will come – eventually and then it will cease to be. But yesterday can never die. Yesterday will always survive.
The present is more important because it shapes the yesterdays to come and creates situations for more yesterdays.
Actually now is the only time I have control – but I don’t like to be in control so I just let it drift away and form this undistinguished yesterday around which I can build all my fantasises. I like creating fantasises. I don’t dream about the future but create images of the past.

the sun has gone away, to the other side but I am not in darkness. I am living in the shadow of the light. I am cool and calculated – thinking in the shadows – rationally balancing between dark light and burning skies
the window bars are my jail. I can see I can strive but I know I cannot go beyond. they are the limit allowing the occasional foray. but the bars are thick – they will never let me escape away..

How are thoughts born without thinking? Only after a thought is born can u think about it. It must be some unconscious mechanism that makes you realize a thought has been conceived. Then you can start to think or at least try to…
Lightening strikes, like an unwanted child
the thoughts are born
Sometimes streaming – nameless and naked
I feel ashamed to think of them
Sometimes they are fairy children
dressed like angels
but that is rare
Sometimes they trickle
Sometimes they flow
mostly they stand still
not caring to grow
Thoughts sometimes unconnected
evil and wicked
otherwise good children in every way
Most of all my thoughts are of things
which most people wouldn’t even care….

Green fields, hot sun, Dhanoli station
we are just steaming along
another station another bridge
we just keep moving on
‘Life’s a journey not a destination’
Moving towards a goal we do not know
Searching for something we can never show
We plough through the future
heading back to the past
where we will stop, when we will slow
noone will ever know.

flying through the day
I am back where I began
I never left my cage
Perched – I preached I screeched
they didn’t even turn to see
Nightingale voice crying of the pain
Echoes resonate
But they would not listen
for I am locked out
and cannot participate
As I watch the world fly by
I realize I am safe in my cage
See the circus, never participate
Jailed behind the bars of my mind I will survive

embedded deep

Rain she washes my soul – she cleanses the spirit and the clothes and the vultures they sweep down and clean the bones. Blood dripping, dip the beak a little deeper. Deeper, pull out the evil, pluck out the bad seed I know it’s embedded deep. Come cleanse me please. Blood drips, stains the white precious sheet. Help me please……
This will never end. Every end brings with it new beginnings, new pain and new peace – let me swim in my own well, let me search in myself deep. I need to find the person who keeps staring at me. Those eyes they haunt me. What is it you want? Do you not approve of who I am turning to be. The harder I look the more you stare. I need to find you, I need to know who you are and what you mean. Where do you belong? Do I need you to approve?

11 men, a horse + a letter to mr.cobain

It really is like a scene out of play from your worst nightmare….Maybe even a comic strip…who knows …our is but to do or die…Maybe there is some alien planet watching us far away…And some one decided to flip the channel to comedy farce…And everyone just flipped…Oh how we entertain…just like the ring master and his animal troupe…the dogs eat the moneys in spates of rage …and the fleas have their own little circus to…with all sorts of tricks and with their magic doctors they never catch the flu…and the bears are beaten till they beat their guitars …and oh that is music too….Oh this is so much fun…may be you should join in…and don’t forget to bring your gun…and your story….big men of the world …I will drink to that….and tell you of the savages I slayed…crouched over the cross hairs…oh such a thrill…defenceless women I could kill…..Oh what lovely machines we have built…that fly and kill….And bombs to …co-lateral damage is a thing of the past…no more gory images of wars of the past….precision target bomb…clinical efficiency…cnn we own and bbc we feed…the only things that are important happen are on mtv…watch mj n his plastic surgery the osbournes family parody….…Oh we sold them armour….the Russians had to be repelled… but they didn’t know of our nuclear grade amour piercing shells….a lesson we had to teach them….for building nukleear weapons…

Eleven men and a horse….magic tapes…and disappearing men…bombs that crawl into caves…and governments that plagiarize….networks of terror …and silent sleeper cells…mad bomber in the sky….a friend of my friend is my enemy…the infidel must die….islamist fundamentalist terrorist…time for the missiles…all to much talk. and not enough oil…the peoples plea for our help…so we bomb them…and liberate them…and they will be grateful for evermore….a new government...a friend…an enemy of my enemy….oil contracts…ford motors will grow….

Oh yeah …you think you are so great….your pain articulated…and your hair dyed…you and your punk rock life….your chains and your shredded jeans…badges of your pain….your adoring fans your trophies…your death the ultimate sacrifice…you know fuck all…mr.suffering and woe betide…mr.pain himself…let me tell u…u make me angry….very angry.. yeah you suffered..and maybe even your suffering was greater than mine…but the fairy tale is what you searched…the big castle and the swimming pool….beverly hills…you are a star now….here we are pretty peasants all lined up…here we are now…entertain us….